


Forgotten

by iamavacado



Series: Some Sanders Sides Stories [12]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Angst, Confrontations, Gen, Insecurity, angry roman, annoyed, argument
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-16 23:59:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15448758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamavacado/pseuds/iamavacado
Summary: Roman isn't quite over the events of "Why do we get out of bed in the morning"





	Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> This may seem a little ooc. I have a lot of emotions and I take them out on my characters.

Despite Roman being in a huff, he faked his way through the night. He swooned over Patton’s spaghetti, and clapped at Virgil's attempt to make cookies for everyone, and forced himself not to glare when Logan pointedly made his way out of the kitchen after he was finished eating. He willed himself not to scoff when he heard the bathroom sink turn on, and he would not let himself groan when he heard Logan brushing his teeth.

He laughed his way through a movie. Once it was over, he mentioned that he was ready for bed. He offered a good show of stretching his arms above his head, yawning, and bidding everyone goodnight. He hid his anger through a thankful smile when Logan commended him on going to bed so early. And he stepped so casually to his room before shutting the door the way one would when sneaking back home from a party that ran late. 

After all of that, he flung himself onto his bed and yelled into his pillow.

“You're just so perfect, aren't you Mr. Perfect?” Roman said into his pillow. “You brush your teeth every day, and you wash your hair, and go to bed early, and blah de blah de blah!”

He continued to make mocking statements for well over an hour. At one point, Roman had gotten up from his bed and started pacing his room back and forth, noticing things that were misplaced or messy. He reacted to these things with that same mocking voice, pretending to scold himself as he adjusted his fake tie and pretend glasses. He saw the snow globe Logan had gotten him for his birthday, and he commented on how it was too close to the edge of his shelf.

“You know it's best to have them in the middle of the shelf Roman,” he said to himself as he mimed pushing glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Then he saw an empty bottle of apple juice standing next to his bed, and he clicked his tongue in disapproval. “You should always throw your garbage in the can as soon as you come upon it Roman.” He bent down to pick it up and stared at the label. “Besides, you should be drinking water anyway. Because that's the only beverage that helps you and blah blah blah.” He reeled his arm back and threw the empty bottle at the door before falling back on his bed. It bounced off the door with a thunk and landed in the middle of the carpet.

He put his hands over his face and groaned into them. “You make it all make sense, don't you?” he asked, muffled. “An explanation for everything.”

A few moments ticked by before Roman heard a knock at his door. A tentative rapping. Though for the life of him, he couldn't bring himself to get out of his bed. So he called a short, “What?” from his place on the mattress.

When Roman heard the voice, his muscles went stiff, and his eyes were struck wide open. It was Logan. “Roman?” he said. “You left your phone in the living room.”

Roman’s expression fell into annoyance once again, and he rolled his eyes, covering has face with his pillow. He mumbled in the same mocking voice he'd been using, “'Roman, you're so forgetful, meh mnelgh mnlegh.” Then, with a normal voice, “Come in.”

Logan opened the door with Roman’s phone in hand. He held it up. “I assume you want it back.”

Roman sighed without taking the pillow from his face. “Of course I want it back Logan.” He motioned to the side table. “Just leave it there.”

Logan paused at the door, brows furrowing the slightest bit at Roman’s short tone. He let a few moments pass before asking in an unsure voice, “Are you...doing okay?” He took the phone over to the table and stopped by the edge of Roman’s bed. Logan was right next to him. He set the phone down.

Roman turned on his side, away from Logan. He put the pillow over his ears. “I'm terrific. I feel like a king.”

Roman couldn't see, but Logan had placed his hands in front of him, and he started to pick at his cuticles with his pointer finger. The air started to go stale, like it so often did when there was little movement in the room. Or when Logan got nervous. “I meant, are you doing okay...in general?” Roman dared to turn himself over the slightest bit. “These past few days-- I just have to tell you--”

Roman turned himself over completely, discarding the pillow. “Oh go ahead.” He sat up. “I'm sure you'll tell me something I don't already know.”

Something suspended itself in the air just then. It seemed to thicken; it stunk with the smell of rising tension. An unintended effect of Roman’s small outburst. Logan shifted his feet. He didn't do that often. He tilted his head to the side a bit, and stuttered a bit before asking, “Excuse me?” His voice was smaller than it was a moment ago. He didn't usually stutter either. “Something you don't already know? What would that be?”

A crude laugh escaped from Roman’s mouth, and he crossed his arms over his chest. He stood, inches from Logan. Logan took a step back. “I don't know, why don't you tell me?” said Roman. “You seemed very eager to tell me last week. About all the ways I'm wrong.”

Logan squinted ever so slightly. He searched his memory for what Roman could be referring to, then widened his eyes in realization. “Are you talking about several days ago? When we had that debate?”

“I hardly remember it being a debate,” Roman said, voice clipped and firm. “The way I remember it, you shot down all of my ideas no matter what they were. You were so….so--” he grappled for a word, and then sarcastically, he said, _“insistent_ on your correctness.”

Logan sighed. Of all the things in the world that could be bothering Roman, it was this. He thought they'd solved this already. It had grown tiring to even think about the argument--debate--that ensued that day. “Roman, I thought we agreed on this. We were both _right_ in some ways, and we were both _wrong_ in some ways. Isn't that the conclusion that we came to?”

Roman made a mocking talking gesture with his hand. The other was on his hip. “Oh that's what you say to make yourself feel better, isn't it?” He crossed his arms once again. “But in the back of your head, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking: I know I'm right, and he's wrong, but I'll put on a good show to make Thomas think we make a good team.”

“That's hardly the truth,” Logan said. He was frowning now. He should have never come back to give Roman his phone. He sensed something was off lately, and he didn't want to make it worse. But now, it was revealed that Logan himself was the cause of the internal struggle. He didn't like arguing with his counterparts, despite what it may look like on camera. He generally wanted to keep the peace, though that hardly happened, and seemed impossible now.

“It's exactly the truth!” He pointed at Logan accusingly. “That's what you think, and I know it.” Roman paused, picking up his phone and sliding it in his pocket. His voice was one of fake praise. “You're a very good actor. Should I give you my sash and let you handle the creative part too? Since you bulldoze anyone else’s ideas. Especially mine.”

Logan's hands balled up into fists at his sides. He was trying to level his breathing, but it was starting to fail. “Roman, I think your pride is making you see things unclearly. I wasn't trying to bulldoze anyone's ideas.”

Roman scoffed. “Yeah, okay. My pride, okay. What about your ego?”

“My ego?” He adjusted his glasses in a frustrated tick. “Aren't you supposed to be the arrogant one?”

“I don't know Logan, am I?” He threw his hands up. “You seem to be taking on others’ roles recently. It's not my fault that you can't ever be wrong.”

Logan pointed at himself with a thumb. _“I'm_ okay with being wrong, but you seem to be so hard pressed to argue with me. If anyone's desperate to be right, it's you.” He paused, trying to think. “I don't understand why you're so up in arms about this anyway. I haven't argued with you since that time, so what's brought it up now?”

“It's just, _you.”_ Roman gestured at Logan up and down. He saw Logan's feet, clad in stark white socks. He saw Logan's pajama pants: NASA sweats that Virgil had gotten him one birthday. His shirt was a gray one with an old design of his logo printed on it. There was even a tie design on it. Even in pajamas, he still acted like he was wearing a suit. “The _things_ you do.”

“Taking care of myself?”

“Condescendingly. You act like you're so much _better_ than me,” Roman said. “Like you're my father. I'm just as important as you.”

Logan's face twisted up into a frown. “I-- never said you weren't--”

“You don't have to,” spat Roman. “The way you act says it all. You scold me with every little thing, every little mistake, every idea I do. It's always wrong.”

“I--” Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He supposed it all had to come to a head eventually. “Thomas said we made a good team!”

“Obviously he was wrong. He's made mistakes before.”

Logan threw his hands up. “Why are you so desperate to be perfect all the time? Can't you just accept that you're not always right?”

“I'm not! I know I'm not! _You're_ the one--” Roman jabbed a finger at Logan-- “who keeps pointing out my mistakes! I'm just sick of you shooting down everything I do!”

“You know what? This isn't going anywhere. You come to me when you're ready to have a real discussion about this.” Logan turned and headed to the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob, and he turned around. “Have you ever thought that you come up with all of these outlandish ideas, lash out, get so desperate for them to be told that they’re _good_ , because _you're_ the one who's too insecure to admit that you need rest, or you need help?”

Roman tried to quickly snap a response, but something stopped him.

“Have you ever thought,” Logan continued, “that you're _afraid_ of having bad ideas, because you're scared of letting Thomas down? That if you even stop for _one_ second, you'll be forgotten?”

Logan left the room, and left the door slightly cracked open. Roman ran up and kicked it shut.

“What do you know?!” he screamed into empty air. “You don't know anything!”

The air, of course, didn't answer him. He threw himself onto his bed, groaning and cursing into his pillow.

He did that for quite some time, and when he raised his head up, he saw two small tear stains on his pillow case. He wiped his eyes. He didn't even realize he'd been crying.

Roman turned on his back, chest suddenly heavy. He looked up and saw his shelf out of the corner of his eyes. His snow globe peeked just over the edge. His face twisted into a grimace, throwing an arm over his eyes.

After a few moments, he felt as if the snow globe was watching him, burning through him with its condescending glare. He sat up and grabbed it, holding it in his hands as the fake snow settled.

It was a quaint little thing. Simple. A crown sat in the middle of the base, with a sword leaning against it. The fake snow was sprinkled with red glitter that reflected whatever light shone on it. It couldn't have been costly, but it was one of Roman’s favorite gifts. He shook it a little, watching the snow fall down around the crown.

It made him angry to even look at it, but it also made the rock on his chest turn into a boulder, because Logan had remembered Roman’s birthday. 

No one else had. They threw him a party at the end of the day, but Roman was certain that it was because Logan chastised them. Virgil was never good at remembering dates anyway; he even forgot his own birthday sometimes. Thomas had forgotten. And even Patton--sweet, well-meaning Patton--had forgotten too. Logan was the only one who remembered. 

Roman went down for breakfast, and when he came back, this snow globe was sitting in a wrapped box on his bed.

He sighed with heavy breath as he looked at it now. He shoved it under his bed, not able to look at it anymore.

“You make it all make sense, don't you?” he mumbled, falling back once more, eyes closing. His breath shuddered on the way out.

_If you stop for even one second, youll be forgotten_

_stop for even one second, you'll be forgotten_

_one second, you'll be forgotten_

_you’ll be forgotten_

_Forgotten_

**Author's Note:**

> Comment?


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